


LBD

by katieelizabeth



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-04
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-02-10 09:58:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2020779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katieelizabeth/pseuds/katieelizabeth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock needs a favour from Molly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	LBD

**Author's Note:**

> Sadly, no characters belong to me.  
> Unbetaed so all mistakes are mine.  
> Please read and comment x x

Molly Hooper flopped down on her bed, painfully aware that she was naked underneath her dressing gown, watching as the contents of her wardrobe were flung on the floor by the man-child that was the worlds only, recently resurrected, Consulting-Detective.  He’d stomped right into her room ten minutes previously, she’d only just managed to yank her dressing gown around herself after her bath, and proceeded to sort through her wardrobe with a muttered explanation about a case he needed her for.

“Sher-Sher-Sherlock…” she yawned.  “…I am not exactly in the mood to help you on a case.”

“But I need a dinner companion, Molly…” he grumbled, his voice muffled by the clothes that had so far survived the mass exodus from her IKEA PAX wardrobe.  “…it is essential.” 

She harrumphed.  “But I just worked a double shift and I’m exhausted.  Can’t someone else go with you?”

“Who exactly?” he demanded, finally removing his head from amongst her clothes.

Molly shrugged feebly.  “I don’t know.  Maybe someone who hasn’t just worked for twenty hours solid.  What about Jo…” she winced and broke off.  John was currently a sore subject.   He and his new wife, Mary Watson nee Morstan, had got married two months ago now and had only just managed to fit in a honeymoon.  Sherlock had been ridiculously childish about the whole thing, the way he’d been going on, you’d think John had abandoned him in the middle of a crime boom, when in fact everything was very quiet.  “…Greg?  Who better to have with you, than a Detective Inspector?  And I’m sure Greg would love to help.”

“Who?"

She rolled her eyes. "Lestrade."

"Oh, him. Gerard is indisposed.  Anyway, it would be better if I dine with a female companion…less attention, you understand.”

“Well then, use one of the girls from the homeless network…” she muttered, folding her arms tightly across her chest.  “…I’m sure they’d be delighted to help you.” 

Sherlock gave a long suffering sigh.  “It would take them far too long to get prepared…besides, while they are all well versed in subterfuge, they are not so experienced with such formal surroundings.  Which is why I ne…require, your assistance.” with that he turned back to the wardrobe and resumed the frantic rifling, two more pairs of trousers and a grey striped cardigan joined the pile on the floor. 

“But Sherlock…” she whined.  “…I am completely wiped out, any other night and I would but…”

“Oh, where is it!?!” he snapped, cutting right across her.

“Where’s what?” she asked irritably.

He heaved yet another sigh.  “The black dress you wore to that ghastly Christmas party.”

Grimacing, she stood up and strode over to her chest of drawers, yanking open the top drawer and contemplating the mass of pyjamas she kept in there.  “I-I threw it away.” she said eventually.

“Why?”

Molly shrugged, keeping her gaze fixed on the open drawer.  “It didn’t exactly have the desired effect.” she muttered under her breath.

“Pardon?” 

She shook her head, removing her favourite set of pyjamas from the drawer before turning back to him.  “I said…it didn’t have the desired effect.”

He stared at her steadily, his perfect cupid bow lips parted slightly.

When it became clear that he wasn’t going to say anything she slipped past him and headed towards the bathroom, muttering, “I can’t help you…I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“Please Molly…” he said softly.  “…if I don’t do this now, I won’t get another chance for months.  All you will have to do is sit there and eat.  The suspect isn’t dangerous, so you will be completely safe.”

“Oh Sherlock, I’m not worried about that.  I just…” she stopped and tutted.  “…fine, fine.  I’ll do it, but you owe me Sherlock Holmes.”

He smirked.  “You can order dessert.”

“It’d better be a bloody big one.” she said shortly.  “And I don’t actually have anything to wear.”

Sherlock hummed, suddenly crouching down before sorting through the pile of clothes in the middle of her bedroom floor, finally standing up clutching a bundle of navy blue fabric.  “Here…this will do.”

Molly frowned and dropped her pyjamas on the bed, quickly taking the bundle which she supposed was a dress that Sherlock deemed suitable.  Shaking the material out, she quickly recognised it as the dress she’d bought just over a year ago and never worn.  She’d been shopping with Mary who’d recently moved to London, and seen the dress in Reiss.  Mary had persuaded her to buy it, even though it cost £225.  It had been frivolous and she’d felt guilty as soon as she’d got home, which was why she’d shoved it in her wardrobe and left it there.  She had blamed the uncharacteristic purchase on the pig of a week she’d had, her washing machine had broken and flooded the kitchen, her landlord had refused get said washing machine fixed, she’d had to work overtime every single day thanks to an unusual influx of dead bodies, she was constantly worrying about Sherlock and, to top it all, the Wednesday had marked seven years since her father had died.  So really her bank account had been a victim of circumstance.

“I don’t know, Sherlock, I bought this ages ago, I’m not even sure it still fits me.”

Sherlock made a noise in the back of his throat.  “Just put it on.  Please.”

With a sigh, she quickly collected the appropriate underwear, making sure she blocked the drawer from view, though she wasn’t sure why she was bothering, since she was ninety-nine percent sure Sherlock had gone through her drawers at least once when he’d been ‘dead’, before hurrying into the bathroom.  Molly removed her dressing gown and slipped on her underwear before gingerly picking up the dress, contemplating it silently.  She wasn’t sure why she was doing this.  Probably because Sherlock had said please, he never said please, so clearly it was important.  With another sigh she stepped into the dress, pulling it up before easing it over her hips and sliding her arms through the correct holes.  Surprisingly it still fit her, the only issue was the zip which she couldn’t do up by herself.  She left the bathroom reluctantly and found Sherlock sitting on the edge of her bed, tapping his knees impatiently.  When she walked in he looked up, his expression unreadable.

“Umm…would you mind zipping me up?  I can’t reach.” she asked self-consciously.

“Ah…yes-yes, I can do that.”

She nodded and turned round, lifting her hair out of the way as he pulled the zip up slowly, his fingers brushing the back of her neck as it reached the top.  Her already warm cheeks got even hotter, the flush spreading down her neck as the place he’d touched tingled pleasantly.  Molly sighed internally, one day she would stop reacting to him in that way.  One day.  _Hopefully one day soon._ She thought as she stepped in front of the cream free standing mirror beside her wardrobe.  She’d actually forgotten how pretty the dress was, it was made from navy blue silk, the fitted bodice clung to her torso while the flared skirt accentuated her waist and finished just above her knee. 

“Will it do?” she asked after a while.

Sherlock shrugged.  “Yes, I suppose.”

“I’d better do my hair.” she muttered, suppressing the slight feeling of disappointment.  Of course he wasn’t going to say that she looked beautiful.

“Leave it down…” he put in, sitting back on her bed and pulling out his phone.  “…it suits you better.”

She rolled her eyes and returned to the bathroom, applying a small amount of make-up, mostly concealer to hide the huge bags under her eyes, before brushing her hair out and curling the ends.

“Finally.” Sherlock muttered when she left the bathroom for a second time.

Molly tutted.  “You know, I am doing you a favour here.  I could just as easily get changed and stay in.”

He made a noise in the back of his throat.  “You’re right of course and I am grateful.  Now can we leave?  The reservation is for half past seven.”

“Yes.” she sighed, grabbing the only pair of high heeled shoes she owned, black peep-toes with about a three inch heel, hurriedly slipping them on while trying to follow Sherlock out into her sitting room and not fall flat on her face.

* * *

“Did you know that was going to happen?” Molly hissed furiously, as she stormed, shoes in hand, into her flat, five and a half hours later.

“No, of course not!” Sherlock replied, sounding highly affronted as he followed her into the sitting room.

She harrumphed and dropped her shoes beside the sofa with a hollow clunk, before yanking off her coat.  “So much for ‘the suspect isn’t dangerous, Molly…you’ll be safe, Molly!!’  I knew I shouldn’t have gone with you!”

“Oh come on…” he grumbled, pulling off his coat and scarf and leaving them in a pile on the sofa.  “…it wasn’t that bad.”

“Not that bad?!?” she shrieked.  “Right…because after I’ve worked a double shift, I always like to be taken hostage in a fucking restaurant for five hours!!!” with that she turned and stalked away into her bedroom, slamming the door and dumping her coat on the wicker arm chair beside her wardrobe.  She then attempted to remove her dress, twisting around angrily as she tried to reach the zip, but it was no good.  She was faced with staying in the dress for the rest of the night, which wasn’t appealing since all she wanted to do was curl up in pyjamas and watch the telly, or asking Sherlock for help.  Reluctantly, she chose the latter, emerging from her room feeling a little humiliated, mainly because she’d actually managed to storm off without tripping over anything.

Sherlock was still standing where she’d left him, now stroking her tabby cat, Toby, who was perched on the arm of the sofa, purring happily.

“Can you help with my dress?” she muttered petulantly.

He nodded swiftly and stepped away from Toby, who gave a loud, disgruntled meow, as she turned, once again lifting her hair.

“ _Did_ you know it was going to happen?” she asked quietly.

He sighed softly, slowly easing the zip down.  “No.  I told you…I would never put you in danger like that.”

“Not intentionally.” she said under her breath.

Sherlock tutted loudly.  “I am telling the truth.  That man wasn’t even the suspect.”

“Ha!” she spluttered.

“He wasn’t!” he insisted.

“Sure…” she spat, turning back to him.  “…so a masked gunman just happened to turn up when you were in the middle of a stakeout?”

“Yes, actually.”

Molly shook her head disbelievingly, striding back into her room. 

This time Sherlock followed her.  “It was a coincidence, Molly.  I swear.”

“Can you leave please…” she said tightly.  “…I need to get changed.”

“Molly…” he started.

“Just go…please…”

Instead he stepped closer and peered into her eyes.  “I promise you.  The gunman wasn’t the suspect.”

She wanted to believe him, she really did but he had form.  He’d asked her to go with him on stakeouts five or six times, usually when John was with Mary, and every time they’d ended up running away from someone.  “You’re sure about that, are you?”

“Yes, of course...” he snapped sounding exasperated.  “…the suspect doesn’t even exist for god sake!”

Molly gaped at him.  “What?!  Sorry, but what?”

Sherlock shifted slightly, shuffling from one foot to the other.  She could see the realisation dawning on his face.  “Nothing…I think I’ll just go.” he said, turning to leave.

“No…” she said quickly, grabbing his wrist to stop him from leaving.  “…tell me what you meant.”

He cleared his throat, avoiding her eyes completely.  “The suspect does not exist, there was no case.”

“No…no case?  Then what on earth was tonight about then?”

Sherlock looked very uncomfortable, his cheeks flushed a light pink.  “Well…it was supposed to be a…date.”

Molly stared at him, her heart pounding so loudly in her chest that she was sure he could hear it.  “A-a date?” she asked uncertainly.  “As in a date, date?”

“Yes…a date, date.  Of course it didn’t exactly work out as I imagined.”

“No kidding.” she murmured to herself.  She kept quiet for a while, running over the evening in her head.  Admittedly Sherlock hadn’t exactly seemed as alert as he usually was on a stakeout, she’d found that a little odd.  But nothing about the evening said date.  Granted he’d held the doors open for her, but he did that anyway.  They hadn’t spoken much while they’d eaten their starter, Sherlock had been behaving a little strangely, but she’d just put that down to the many moods he fell into.  And then, of course, all hell had broken loose.  “Why did you lie about the case?  Why not just ask me on a date?” she said finally.

He frowned, beginning a slow lap around the room.  “I wasn’t sure how.  John said it would be easy but it wasn’t.  I’ve been trying to ask you for weeks but…”

“What changed?” she asked, cutting across him.  “Between us, I mean?”

He stopped pacing.  “Why does that matter?  Things have changed, surely that’s the main thing.  Couldn’t we just leave at that?  I would like to spend more time with you, perhaps have dinner?  Or do any of the inane things John suggested, honestly who considers going for a walk a date?”

“Please, Sherlock…tell me.  I need you to tell me.”

He seemed to contemplate her for a long moment before sighing loudly.  “Perhaps you should get changed first.” 

Molly winced, remembering for the first time that her dress was unzipped.  “Right…good idea.” she retrieved her pyjamas and went into the bathroom, quickly removing the dress and replacing it with yellow and white polka dot pyjama bottoms and an old university t shirt.  When she emerged Sherlock was sitting somewhat uneasily on the edge of her bed.  Quietly she dealt with her dress before sitting silently beside him.

“Being away…” he said slowly.  “…that is, being alone was harder than I imagined.  I thought I would be fine with it.  I’ve been alone for most of my life, but I…struggled...” he spat the word out as if it was something to be ashamed of.  “…I didn’t feel safe thinking about John or Mrs Hudson, so I thought about you…about home.  I knew you were here waiting for me.  I lived for the days I was in London so I could see you.  You were my anchor Molly, the one constant in my life.  I noticed the change between us when I came back.  I was more aware of you.  I wanted to be near you.  I found myself visiting the lab for no reason.  My heart would pound all the time I was around you.  At first I suspected an underlying heart condition but that seemed unlikely. I’d start blushing.  It took me a while to realise what was happening and by the time I did, it was too late.  I was worried about asking you because you seem so different around me…you’re more confident, you don’t stammer or blush anymore, you tell me off all the time, I thought perhaps your feelings had changed and…” he stopped abruptly, peering at her face.  “…you’re crying…”  He said softly.

Molly wiped her eyes quickly, frowning down at the moisture on her fingers.

“I apologise…” Sherlock said softly.  “…I shouldn’t have said anything…I’ll go.”

“Don’t-don’t go…” she gabbled, grabbing his hand.

“But I’ve upset you…” he muttered confusedly.  “…I didn’t mean to.  Perhaps you should forget everything I just said…yes, that would probably be…”

“Oh shut up, you great idiot!” she exclaimed, seizing his face and pressing a fierce kiss to his lips.  After a few seconds she pulled away, her eyes still shining with tears as she smiled widely at him.  “I love you.” she whispered.

“Hmm…it seems you are not alone in that department.”

“Well…” she murmured.  “…that is good news.”

Sherlock smiled and leaned in, placing a series of slightly clumsy kissed to her lips, but she didn’t care.  After all, practice made perfect.  And she intended to practice rather a lot.


End file.
